De Minimus
by Shiv5468
Summary: Following a Weasley prank at a Hogwarts post-War reunion, Severus is suffering from divine intervention in his life. Only Hermione has the cure.
1. Default Chapter

You don't get out much - couple of times in the last three thousand years - so you like to make the most of very opportunity when it presents itself.  
  
You made a bad choice this time, though. Actually, that's not fair, it's not as if you made the choice. It was made for you by the pair of red- headed monsters. Red hair was always a sign of evil back in the old days, and this pair seems to bear out everything you ever heard about Set.  
  
You should be grateful. If it weren't for the mistake they made in the potion they were making, you would never have been free. But why did they have to choose this for your new home. It's not much of an improvement on the old one. You get up in the morning, you hang around all day, you never go out, and you never get to meet women. A thousand years between women is a long time to wait, and it seems that your new host has been out of action for about the same length of time.  
  
So you decide to take matters into your own hands - well you would if you had any. You try to drop hints to your new host, poke your head above the parapet as it were, take a bit of an interest in the women available, but he just sulks and hides in the dungeons. Not that you can blame your host, there doesn't seem to be a great deal of choice here. Ah, for the old days when you had a harem, and your choice of maidens from the far corners of the Empire.  
  
Then someone came to see him. A woman. She wasn't much to look at, but by now you were desperate. For some odd reason your host seemed to think she was attractive. When you tried to get a better look, she threatened to cut your head off. Scary! Brilliant but scary! It was nice to hear the old language again though, and that night I dreamed again of the desert I had left behind so long ago.  
  
Then she went away again, and all your host could do was think of her. You couldn't see it yourself, all that bushy hair. In the desert that would have been home to all sorts of insects, and it would have been shaved off. You always did like a fine wig on a lady, with the cones of incense melting on them to release the richest perfumes into the air. But you could tell he would never do anything about it. I don't know why he thinks he is ugly, in your time that nose would have been seen as desirable. All the royals had noses that big. Just think of Seti I.  
  
You decided to give him a little push in the right direction, and started controlling his dreams, dropping hints as to how he might seduce her. In the old days of course you would just have given her father a couple of goats or a camel and that would be that. Apparently, these days young girls get to do their own deciding. I was shocked about this at first but, leaving aside the issue of the savings in goats, it does seem a lot more fun this way. A bit like hunting lions in the desert, but a lot more dangerous.  
  
And when she came back she invited us to her rooms, and there were fine wines and rich foods. When you saw what she was wearing you quite forgot about the hair. Fine silk that clung to her considerable curves. You kept telling him that she was interested but he wouldn't believe you. You thought that you were going to have to take over but she didn't give up. She whispered in his ears, and kissed his throat, and even he had to admit that she wanted him.  
  
You weren't to be denied after all this time, and you quickly subdued some ridiculous qualms of conscience. And then it was all honeyed sweetness, the press of her firm young flesh, and the flood of ecstasy.  
  
Of course, when you woke up in your old home you realised that it had all been a trick. The price you paid for her was much higher than a couple of mangy camels, but you didn't begrudge it - she was worth it. And there will be other moments of freedom, you can wait.  
  
She has manners though, the young girl, and she brings you regular offerings of flowers, and beer and bread and tells you how things are going between her and my erstwhile host. When he thinks she isn't looking, he comes too and talks to me.  
  
They seem happy together, and you are glad of it. You may only be a little, shrunken god compared to the old days, but you have worshippers again and you will watch over them and keep them from harm. 


	2. And so the story begins

Dumbleore was looking even more twinkle-eyed than usual, and Severus would felt like throttling him. Severus usually felt like throttling him, with his cheerful bon homie and his always believing in the best of people – no matter that that had worked to his advantage – but it was at times like these that he most feared that his self-control would snap and that he would be found crouched above the old man's corpse with both hands wrapped round his windpipe.  
  
"Are you looking forward to the party, Severus?" asked Dumbledore.  
  
Severus was never sure whether Albus was as innocent as he seemed; in another person's mouth that would have been uncomfortably close to sarcasm.  
  
"Of course he is, Albus," said Minerva.  
  
Severus had no difficulty at all in identifying that as sarcasm, because no one in their right mind would ever think that he would 'look forward' to several hours spent in the company of ex-students who he abhorred, and away from the dungeons he adored. Not to mention that the evening wouldn't even have the advantage of the crutch of a haze of Firewhiskey, and that he would be expected to drink Butterbeer all night. He shuddered.  
  
Sometimes he wondered if Lucius hadn't got the best deal, even though he would be spending the rest of his life in Azkaban. At least he wasn't required to teach nor, at the end of a hard day at the chalk face when he wanted nothing more than a cold drink and a warm bath, was he required to make merry with the saviours of the wizarding world.  
  
Albus was still looking at him expectantly, still waiting for an answer. "I expect the evening will be acceptable," he said, biting his tongue to prevent him from treating Albus to a more frank exposition of his views. Minerva would never forgive him for upsetting Albus, and Minerva had a nasty way of making her displeasure felt.  
  
Apparently his answer was good enough to make Albus think that, deep down, underneath this veneer of cynicism, he really was keen on the party, because Albus slapped him on the back, and said, "You never know your luck, Severus, maybe one of the young witches here tonight will take a shine to you."  
  
"I think that's a bit unlikely, Albus," said Minerva, with a broad grin, "he must have taught most of them."  
  
Severus couldn't think of anything witty to say in reply so contented himself with a scowl. The problem was that there was enough truth in that to make the comment sting. He wasn't vehemently opposed to the idea of a female friend; he might even go so far as to say he would be in favour of it, if an opportunity presented itself to him. However, it was extremely unlikely that any opportunity would present itself at a party full of his ex-students.  
  
For some odd reason, seven years of being sneered at and bullied meant that he had about as much chance at chatting up an ex-pupil as convincing Lucius Malfoy that mudbloods weren't all bad. Actually, he stood a better chance of convincing Lucius, as he had always said that mudbloods were good for one thing. No ex-pupil had ever thought he was good for anything.  
  
His scowl deepened, and he dutifully trailed after Albus and Minerva. Sod it, he would transfigure the butterbeer into something more acceptable at the first chance he got and be damned to the other partygoers. You never know, he might actually be popular for once.  
  
The party was as dreadful as he had anticipated. His position, propping up the wall, allowed him a good view of the proceedings. Doubtless he would later get a lecture from Albus on the need to mix, to take part, to be more affable, but it was a small price to pay for his present peace and quiet. There was a certain interest in watching the movements of the crowd, seeing who was talking to whom, and who wasn't talking to anyone: old friendships fractured, new friendships made.  
  
The Potter boy for instance, was talking away to Neville Longbottom and hadn't spoken to either Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger once. He was surprised to find that his hatred of the boy had faded into a dull dislike; he must be getting old. The Weasley brat had never been such an irritant, and the Granger girl – once she had stopped showing the world that she knew the answers to everything – had mellowed into an interesting and scholarly young woman.  
  
He wondered idly what she had been up to since leaving school. He was sure Minerva had told him, but he had a habit of tuning out her effusions of praise over her ex-students. It only served to highlight the fact that, for his Slytherins, not being in Azkaban was about the best they could hope for.  
  
Miss Granger seemed bored; her eyes were scanning the room for something or someone more interesting than Seamus Finnegan who had cornered her. He had been mildly surprised to see Seamus to eager to talk to a girl he had ignored so effectively when she was at school, presumably other than to ask to borrow her homework. Then he had re-assessed Miss Granger's appearance; he could see the attraction.  
  
There had been no sudden development, no fundamental alteration in her appearance, but there was a subtle difference in the way she held herself. Gone was the permanent hunch of shoulders braced against the weight of her satchel; instead she stood tall and proud. Gone was the slightly apologetic air, as the poor girl was forced to pretend to be less intelligent, less sharp, less anything than her fellow pupils; she was animated and confident, and vibrant. The hall seemed too small to hold her.  
  
Whatever she had been doing with herself, it had been conducted outdoors, that much was clear; she was tanned. Whether she had always had that really rather attractive physique hidden under her school robes – he would never have looked, the habit of not looking was deeply ingrained – or whether it was something that had developed recently, what was new was the assurance she felt in showing it off.  
  
He realised, with a faint sense of horror, that he had been admiring Hermione Granger's form for some five minutes. It was an even greater shock to realise that she had noticed. Only the fact that there was a wall behind him stopped him from looking behind him to see who she was smiling at.  
  
Apparently it was him, and then she was making some polite excuse to Seamus and heading towards him. He did fleetingly wonder whether she was coming over to slap his face for leering, or even to lecture him on his inadequacies as a teacher. Some people seemed to be able to hold a grudge for years after they had left class. He had lost count of the number of drunken students – they all needed Dutch courage – who had lurched over to him at these parties to discuss his failings.  
  
None of these possibilities fitted the evidence though; you didn't smile warmly at the person you'd caught admiring your chest if you were about to slap them. He could only draw one conclusion. His ex-pupils would be amused to know that he regarded the approach of Hermione, presumably with the intention of at least a light flirtation if not something more serious, with more trepidation than any vengeful student.  
  
He knew what to do with vengeful students, but a potentially amorous woman?  
  
He surreptitiously checked his robes: they were clean and unwrinkled. His breath was fresh. His underpants were clean. His wand was within easy reach. He was ready for anything.  
  
He kept admonishing himself of that fact as he watched her come closer. She paused by the table holding the punch, and collected two glasses from one of the Weasley twins – why Albus had thought that putting those two in charge of the drinks had been a good idea he would never know. Not unless Albus also found Minerva's insistence that they only be allowed Butterbeer as annoying as Severus, and thought the twins could be relied upon to 'improve' things a little.  
  
His glass was still completely full. What could he do with it? He couldn't drink it, he couldn't put it down somewhere without moving – and he definitely didn't want to move – but if he didn't do something quickly there would be an awkward moment of juggling with too may drinks for too few people.  
  
It wouldn't be disastrous but he didn't want to appear flustered.  
  
Inspiration struck, and he surreptitiously cast a charm to relocate the glass to the kitchens, where it would no doubt startle the house elves. A quick wipe of the sweaty palms on the robes, a brief prayer to whatever god was looking over him tonight that he NOT mess this up, and the thought that even if all he got out of this was a decent conversation it would be worth it.  
  
He half expected her to continue past him, but she stopped, smiled again, and said, "Hello, Professor. Would you like a drink? I should warn you though; I think the twins have added a little something to the punch. Vodka, I'd say."  
  
Vodka was odourless and largely tasteless: a good choice for spiking the punch.  
  
"Thank god for that, Miss Granger."  
  
"Please call me Hermione, otherwise I will expect you to deduct house points at any moment."  
  
He opened his mouth to say something cutting, paused, reconsidered, and instead heard himself cravenly inviting her to call him Severus.  
  
There was an awkward silence whilst he racked his brains to think of something to say. It wasn't fair; Miss Granger had always been so full of questions in the past, why wasn't she badgering him for information on something. What could she ask though? Still working at Hogwarts? Still teaching? See anything of your old friends? That's why he hated small talk; it consisted of nothing more than mindless questions to which you already knew the answers. It was dull.  
  
She was on the verge of asking him something, and if it was a comment on the wonderful weather for the time of year he would be forced to say something cutting, and that would be that.  
  
"I read your letter to Potion Master's Monthly last month," she said. "It was very amusing."  
  
That was unexpected. Now he really did wish that he had listened to Minerva. "I didn't know that you had maintained an interest in Potions after school, Hermione," he said cautiously. That was nicely bland, and should tempt further information out of her.  
  
"Oh, I didn't; not really. Charms was always my thing, although I'm sure you disapprove of all the wand-waving involved. My interest came about because I'd had a run in with that Grister woman myself a couple of weeks ago, so Bill pointed it out."  
  
That Grister woman had dared to suggest that Potions should be removed from Hogwarts curriculum as being too dangerous. His dissection of her manifest stupidity had been a masterly piece of invective; he'd almost expected to be challenged to a duel as a result, but her arrogance apparently hadn't reached the heights of thinking that she would be able to beat him in that arena.  
  
"What did she say to annoy you," he asked, both because he was mildly interested, and because he hoped it would give him a clue as to what she had been doing recently.  
  
"As you know, I've been working with Bill in Egypt doing curse-breaking. We brought back some artefacts which have gone on display at the British Museum, including a statue of an ithyphallic Min."  
  
That was one mystery solved – the job – and another one raised: what on earth was an ithyphallic Min?  
  
According to Hermione's description, delivered with faintly pink cheeks, it was a statue of an Egyptian god with an enormous and erect phallus. Miss Grister had objected to its display on the grounds of decency. "Which is silly really, because he's an essential part of one of their creation myths. He's described as 'making love to his hand' and scattering the seed across the sky to form the stars, so it's no good putting him on display with that aspect covered up or even removed."  
  
He winced at that thought, in the same way as almost every man she'd told. Then he was suddenly struck by a thought. "I think I could learn to like the Egyptians," he said. "I think that explains an awful lot about the way the world works."  
  
"What, that it was made by a wanker?"  
  
Hermione had certainly grown up, and with a vengeance; there was still a reflexive desire to deduct housepoints for bad language but that was exactly what he meant, so he merely nodded.  
  
"Personally," she said, "I've always considered the theory that God is a man an adequate explanation for the mess the world is in. Typical man: come the seventh day and he skives off. You can tell he got bored. He probably nipped off through time and space to watch the football."  
  
Severus could tell when he was being baited, and he had been baited by masters; she would have to do better than that. "I would have thought it was more likely to have been Quidditch than some mere Muggle sport," he returned blandly.  
  
He was rewarded with a minute twitching of the lips, before she replied, "I suppose you're right. After all, wizards are even more disorganised than Muggle men."  
  
"Really?" he demurred, not willing to concede the point.  
  
"Oh yes," she said with feeling. "You should try living in the desert with Bill Weasley for six months if you don't believe me. He seemed to think that because I was a girl that somehow I had volunteered to do all the cooking, washing and cleaning."  
  
"I don't imagine that it took you long to persuade him of the error of his ways," he said. "Is Mr Weasley here, or have you left him head down in a sand trap somewhere?"  
  
"He's staying on in Egypt. I started work at the British Museum last week, finishing up the exhibition and starting my research."  
  
Severus's long nose twitched. Research. Something more interesting than teaching short people the same potions over and over again. "What sort of research?"  
  
Hermine gave him a searching glance, and apparently concluded that he was actually interested in hearing about her work. It wasn't as if Snape was renowned for making polite conversation; if he asked, he probably really wanted to know the answer.  
  
"It follows on from my time in Egypt. I'm researching god formation."  
  
Severus raised his eyebrow in surprise. "God formation?"  
  
She nodded. "If you look at Early Egypt there was a process whereby the Egyptians took symbols from the natural world around them, like frogs or crocodiles, or even the Nile itself, and them imbued them with meaning. They were desperate to impose order on chaos, and were willing to believe in anything that would help them.  
  
"All that belief sloshing around sort of gathered in one place, round the symbol, and created actual gods. The problem we have is that no one worships them any more so they are dying out; there's a little known god protection program running in Egypt where people go and pray to them or make offerings to help keep them alive.  
  
"What we're actually worried about though is that, even though Muggles are a fairly irreligious lot these days, they might end up creating new gods."  
  
"What sort of new gods?" he asked. What on earth did Muggles believe in anyway?.  
  
"We've identified three problem areas: money, football and computers. Money isn't really a problem, because there are lots of gods and goddesses of wealth that can slide in and absorb that belief. We thought football was going to be our biggest problem; some of the supporters are quite fervent. But they spend most of their time praying to existing gods about the results, so all that belief is absorbed that way.  
  
"The real problem turns out to be computers. People worship them and adore them, and get obsessive about them; they give them names and personalities; they make shrines to them at work with pictures and little figures standing on them; and because they are always breaking down or eating data, they make very fervent pleas to the machine not to do bad things to their work. We are in imminent danger of creating a computer god, and goodness only knows what effect that could have."  
  
Despite his lack of interest in things Muggle, Severus was fascinated by the thought that they could create gods merely by pleading with inanimate objects. He felt mildly uncomfortable at the number of times he had 'willed' his potions to behave. Were his cauldrons in danger of developing a case of incipient godhood, and what would he do with them if that were the case?  
  
"How much belief does it need to create a god?" he enquired. He had visions of having to lay flowers before his potions equipment before they would agree to co-operate. Obviously his slight worry – after all, if praying to his cauldron would get better results, he was prepared to try it - communicated itself to Hermione, because she laughed and assured him it would take millions of people, believing the same thing very hard to have any effect.  
  
He was curious about how researched God formation, and asked for further information. Hermione was in the middle of a complicated explanation of experiments involving two computers and making offerings to one and using the other one as a control, when he felt an odd twisting in his stomach.  
  
He suddenly felt very hot, and he could feel beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. Hermione seemed to be a very long way away, and had an annoying habit of swaying from side to side. She was saying something, in a very deep, slow voice, about going outside for some fresh air. It sounded like a good idea, so he lurched away from the comfort of his wall and began to struggle towards the door.  
  
Hermione was holding his hand, or his arm, or supporting him, or something; and then he was out in the cold of the night air, and he didn't feel better at all, he felt worse, and Hermione was looking at him with large, puzzled eyes and he wanted to kiss her more than anything, and he realised that the Weasley's had put something in the punch after all. He made a mental note to hunt them down and make them pay, and then grabbed clumsily at Hermione.  
  
Oddly enough she didn't seem to be struggling much, which was a relief really because he didn't think he'd be able to deal with someone who was being uncooperative, and she was warm, and smelt faintly of punch, and tasted of it too.  
  
Then something seemed to hit him very hard, and he was down on the floor, and he could hear Hermione telling someone off for something, and then he released his faint grip on unconsciousness. 


	3. and so the story continues

He had woken up in the Infirmary often enough to be able to recognise it by scent alone; there was no need to open his eyes. The smell of medicinal potions with a hint of vomit that no amount of cleaning could remove; the crisp feel of the starched sheets; the narrowness of the beds, more suited to children than adults: they all told the same story. He was in the Infirmary, about to have indignities visited on his person by Madam Pomfrey.  
  
He was sure that Pomfrey was a pervert of some sort. She seemed to take an inordinate pleasure in causing him humiliation, and was obsessed with removing his clothes. He had spent long enough with the Deatheaters to recognise that sort of behaviour; and he wanted nothing to do with it. He had to admit that she was a dab hand at treating the after-effects of Crucio, at least once he'd explained his views that the treatment could be administered without the removal of his drawers.  
  
He would have kept his robes on completely given half a chance; not that he ever was.  
  
He made the habitual inventory: legs, two, moving: check; arms, two, moving: check; hearing: check; now for the critical test. He opened his eyes to see a blurry shape before him. He clutched at the covers reflexively, determined to keep his underwear in situ.  
  
When his vision cleared, he could tell that the shape was in fact Hermione Granger, and this triggered a rush of memory from what was – presumably – the night before: the punch; the need to hunt down the Weasleys and make them pay; the dizziness; the snogging of Hermoine; and the ultimate humiliation of being hexed.  
  
He tried to summon up some indignation about Hermione hexing him rather than simply slapping his face, but he couldn't; his behaviour had been unforgivable.  
  
"It was the punch," he blurted, hoping that some attempt at an apology would avert her wrath before she could really get going. His head hurt; he wanted some peace and quiet.  
  
"Oh I know," she said. "I thought at first that you were just a bit frisky because you were drunk."  
  
"I can assure you it is not my habit to lure young ladies outside and then force my attentions upon them unless under some malign influence."  
  
"No, you're much more likely to lure them back to your rooms for a glass of wine, some civilised conversation, perhaps another glass of wine, and then pounce on them. I rather thought the terrible twins were behind it when they were so quick to cast Stupefy and rescue rescue from your grasp."  
  
He knew that his brains were addled by the remnants of the potion, and later he would find the news that the Weasley twins – and not Hermione, who he would have been forced to concede had every right to do so - had added insult to injury by hexing him very interesting indeed, but he was distracted by a mystery even greater than how best to punish them.  
  
He could have sworn that she sounded disappointed. She looked disappointed as well. She seemed to have given a great deal of thought as to method of seduction he would be most likely to use. He cast his mind back to the admittedly confused events of the evening before. No, to the best of his recollection, she hadn't been struggling; in fact, he had the impression that she had been an enthusiastic participant, right up to the point that he had been hexed. Surely she hadn't been interested in a drunken snog with her ex-teacher?  
  
And yet.....  
  
He consoled himself with the thought that if he was wrong, he really couldn't be in any more of an embarrassing situation than at present; and if he was right, well, there was an opportunity here that shouldn't be missed.  
  
"Hermione, you shouldn't assume because I kissed you whilst under the influence of a potion that I would only kiss you when under the influence of a potion. It is merely that my enthusiasm would be tempered by a certain amount of skill. You should recall from your student days that most of what are laughingly referred to as love potions require a certain amount of attraction to be extant between the parties; I don't think the twins would be able to brew the more complex potions necessary to completely override a persons will."  
  
Well, she hadn't run screaming from the room, but she was looking at him with an expression of calculating intelligence rarely seen other than on the face of someone performing complex mental arithmancy.  
  
"Just exactly how much more skill, because you didn't seem to be doing too badly last night," she said.  
  
He just smiled and put his head back down on the pillow. Time, he thought, to be enigmatic and mysterious.  
  
The whole effect was ruined by the arrival of Madam Pomfrey, who seemed determine to evict Hermione from her seat by his side, presumably in anticipation of removing his clothing. He was surprised to find that he hadn't already been stripped and inserted into one of those nasty gowns with the slits up the back. It was very difficult to be enigmatic with our arse hanging out.  
  
He was pleased to see that Hermione was sticking to her post like a limpet.  
  
"Miss Granger, I'll have to ask you to leave. I need to examine Professor Snape."  
  
"I don't think Severus minds if I stay, do you Severus." There was only the slightest hint of emphasis on the use of his first name, but nonetheless it registered with Madam Pomfrey.  
  
She bristled. "I hardly think it's appropriate for you to be present when Professor Snape is in a state of undress."  
  
"I'm sure there's nothing there I haven't seen before," Hermione replied. "You do come with all the standard equipment don't you Severus?"  
  
He resisted the urge to point out that it may be the usual equipment, but it was certainly above standard; he didn't want to inflame Madame Pomfrey any further. Besides, boasting was hardly enigmatic, or indeed stylish in any way.  
  
He simply nodded. "I don't mind if Hermione stays."  
  
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, but there was nothing she could say if Severus had no objections. She drew out her wand and proceeded to cast several complex diagnostic spells. Snape wondered whether, if Hermione had left, he would have been forced to remove his clothes for these tests. Now he knew that it was unnecessary to strip down to his underpants, he was damned if he was ever letting the pervy witch anywhere near him in future.  
  
When he thought of all the times he'd been in the infirmary, alone, weak and vulnerable...... It made him shudder to think what she had been up to.  
  
"Well," she said, "you seem to be fine. I'm concerned though, you shouldn't have been unconscious for so long after a simple Stupefy."  
  
Hermione nodded in agreement. "That's true, but he was under the influence of alcohol combined with whatever potion the Weasley twins slipped him; might that not have had an effect?"  
  
Madam Pomfrey cast her a look of strong irritation. "That might explain things, yes; but that's all the more reason for you to stay in here where I can keep an eye on you. Goodness only knows what the Terrible Twins were brewing."  
  
Hermione wasn't to be defeated. "That's all right, Madam Pomfrey. I feel at least partially responsible for what happened to Severus. I'll be happy to stay with him, and I'm sure he'd feel much more comfortable in the privacy of his own quarters."  
  
Severus rested comfortably on the bed, enjoying the spectacle of two women apparently fighting over him. A spectacle made all the more enjoyable by the undoubted fact that Hermione was winning, and winning handsomely.  
  
Madam Pomfrey conceded with bad grace, and headed into her office to fetch some potions to be administered to Snape at regular intervals. "Miss Granger," she called, "if you could help me with this....." Hermione smiled briefly at Severus, and then obediently trotted after the Mediwitch.  
  
*She's nice*  
  
Severus was startled to hear a voice. He looked round, but there didn't seem to be anyone in the room.  
  
*I rather think she likes you. The older one does too. She's got a face like a camel though.*  
  
He found himself agreeing with the mystery voice, but he felt extremely uneasy that he couldn't find where it was coming from. In his experience, paranoia wasn't a mental health problem but a state of mind that had saved his life on many an occasion. Disembodied voices were rarely good news.  
  
*So, what are you going to do about it? Why don't you invite her back to your rooms to soothe your fevered brow. Perhaps you could ask her to hold your hand?*  
  
Of course, he could be going mad. The strain of teaching potions to morons could finally be getting to him. The next thing he'd know would be waking up to the clean, white walls of St Mungo's.  
  
*What's the matter, Severus? You seem a bit nervous.*  
  
He cautiously slid his hand onto his wand, and quietly cast a revealing charm. He wouldn't put it past the Weasley Twins to be playing silly buggers again.  
  
Nothing.  
  
*Well of course there isn't anyone here. You're looking in the wrong place*  
  
The voice sounded muffled; as if it were coming from a very long way away. Or as if it were coming from beneath the blankets.  
  
*Now we're getting closer.*  
  
Dear god, he could hardly bear to look. Cautiously, he raised the hem of the blanket.  
  
*That's it. You're getting warmer.*  
  
He was still partially clothed from the night before – a shirt, trousers, but no jacket. His trousers were currently tented outwards. He had an erection. Not that that was unusual, although it was inappropriate, and he hoped it would subside before Hermione returned; what was unusual was the sense he had that his cock was looking at him  
  
*Bingo! You're not as stupid as you look then.*  
  
It appeared that not only was his cock looking at him; it was also talking to him.  
  
A sudden bustle to his left indicated the return of Hermione, fortunately without Madam Pomfrey; he didn't think he could face explaining the situation to both of them. She looked quizzically at him; he had to admit he must look very odd holding the blanket up at wandpoint and staring down at his genitals.  
  
He looked up at her with dull misery in his eyes, and confessed all. "It's talking to me."  
  
"I thought that was true for most men." Hermione said with a smile. It faded as she took in his horrified expression. "You're not joking are you?" She sat down abruptly on the chair. "Blimey."  
  
"I think the situation merits something a little stronger than blimey."  
  
"That's a fair point," she admitted. "I just keep expecting you to deduct points." There was a thoughtful silence for a moment. "The Weasleys?" she asked.  
  
"I'd say so," he said grimly. "I am going to kill them."  
  
*I don't see what the fuss is all about. You should be more grateful; it's not often this happens to people.*  
  
"I don't see why I should grateful at all," Snape said hotly. There was an injured silence from his cock. Hermione was looking at him with raised eyebrows. "You didn't hear that?" he asked defensively.  
  
"No..."  
  
He interrupted her before she could complete her sentence. "I'm not going mad you know."  
  
He was relieved when she patted his hand. "Of course you're not. What I was going to say, before I was so rudely interrupted" – she gave him a very pointed stare – "is that I can't think of a potion that would have that effect."  
  
*It's not a potion, well not entirely. The potion was just a gateway.*  
  
Severus looked startled. "It...He..." - The presence was definitely male, and not just because it was presently residing in his cock – "says it's not the potion. That was just what he calls the gateway."  
  
"Does he have a name?"  
  
*I thought you'd never ask. You may call me Min.*  
  
Severus could see himself getting tired of repeating Min's comments very quickly, but he dutifully relayed the information. He was very surprised when Hermione dropped to her knees in a state of excitement, began delving under the covers to find his groin, and then stuck her head beneath the blankets and began jabbering away in some foreign language at great speed.  
  
He was even more surprised when a horrified voice came from the other side of the ward. "Miss Granger, what on earth do you think you're doing?"  
  
*What do you think the old biddy's response would be if you told her the truth: she's worshipping your cock.*  
  
Severus choked back a laugh; he couldn't see that going down very well at all. Hermione abruptly withdrew from the bedding and began stuttering some sort of explanation and apology to Madame Pomfrey. He didn't think the suggestion that she had been looking for a galleon she had dropped was entirely believable, although it did have the advantage of both being more credible than the actual truth and not dropping him in it. The wizards in white coats would be coming to remove Hermione and not him on her present performance.  
  
*And tell her, her accent's terrible.*  
  
'That, my dear Min, is a very bad idea,' thought Severus.  
  
There was a very odd sensation as the entity possessing his – body – seemed to somehow twist round in him to get a better look at the arguing women. *Maybe you're right. She does look a bit stroppy. Aren't you going to help her out with some sort of explanation?*  
  
'I don't think so. Hermione has a lot of experience at extracting herself from this kind of situation.'  
  
*She doesn't look like that kind of person*  
  
'She isn't, but she had two friends that were exactly that kind of person and she was very loyal.'  
  
Hermione appeared to win the dispute, as Madam Pomfrey stormed off, saying something about Albus, wanton witches, and needing to protect her patients.  
  
"I think I ought to get you stashed in the dungeons, while I go looking for the Twins," Hermione said, coming back to stand by the side of the bed. "She's gone off to complain to Albus about my behaviour, and I'd say we've got about ten minutes to make a run for it. And you can wipe that smile off your face; you're not the one being accused of molesting your former teacher when he's in a weakened state."  
  
"Molesting?" he enquired mildly.  
  
"Giving you a blow job," she replied succinctly. "As if I'd ever be stupid enough to get caught doing that!"  
  
Severus felt a pang of disappointment; it seemed he had misunderstood her intentions after all.  
  
*Don't be an idiot.* There was a tinge of irritation in Min's voice. *She only said she wouldn't be caught doing it, not that she wouldn't do it. She likes you, you idiot, can't you tell?*  
  
His sense of relief was undermined by the knowledge that he was taking advice on women from his cock.  
  
*Believe me, you need all the help you can get.*  
  
And a very unsympathetic cock it was too.  
  
He pulled back the covers, and gingerly stood up. No one was going to do this to Severus Snape and get away with it. He was going to hunt down the Weasleys and make them suffer.  
  
But first he needed to go back to the Dungeons and change into something clean, fresh, uncrumpled and very, very loose. 


	4. and so the story goes on a bit more

It seemed to Severus that he encountered the entire female population of Hogwarts on his way to his quarters. It wasn't the magnificent erection that he was sporting that caused him embarrassment, as his jacket covered all visible signs; neither was it the looks flicking meaningfully between him and his companion composed almost equally of shock, horror and amusement.  
  
It was the running commentary.  
  
Min had spent the last three thousand years trapped in a statue; a fact he was quick to announce, and happy to repeat. Having been freed from that statue, all he could think about was sex. His considered opinion on the sexual attractiveness of anyone they met was enough to bring a blush to the fair cheek of Severus.  
  
*I don't think much of her. She's too old; although they do say that older women are more grateful.*  
  
There was a strong suggestion that gratitude was the most that Severus could hope for, which annoyed him. 'I'll be sure to tell Minerva that – once you've been evicted.' The reminder that this was only a temporary arrangement did manage to silence Min, but only for a moment.  
  
*Who's the strapping wench she's talking to ....*  
  
'Hooch,' thought Severus shortly. He was appalled by the god's attitude. He had never previously considered his colleagues as sex objects and now he was very much afraid he wouldn't be able to stop doing so. He'd never speculated on what was to be found under Minerva or Hooch's robes – and dear god he hoped that was mutual – but now Staff Meetings would trigger wholly disrespectful speculations.  
  
Severus was even more horrified when Min leered after a seventh year student. His revulsion at the idea of laying a hand on a pupil penetrated even Min's thick skin, although he had great difficulty in grasping the idea that anyone above fourteen was not fair game. Min thought they should be wedded and bedded by now, and wasn't impressed with the idea that they were entitled to have some say in who they married. *That's unnatural.*  
  
Thank god – any general non-specific god, and definitely not Min, who he had no reason to thank at all - he was an Occlumens second to none; he didn't want Albus wading through the filth occupying his – for the want of a better word – mind.  
  
Although Hooch's thighs were ....  
  
No.  
  
They reached his quarters. Severus opened the door, and courteously ushered Hermione into his sitting room.  
  
"I think we ought to get you into bed as soon as possible," she said briskly.  
  
*I told you she liked you. Ask her to help you to take your clothes off; tell her you still feel weak*  
  
"Will you shut up?" snapped Severus. Catching sight of Hermione's expression – partly amused, but slightly concerned that it might have been directed at her – he shook his head. "No, not you Hermione."  
  
*I wish you'd make your mind up* said a disgruntled Min, *One minute it's Hermione this, and Hermione that - you don't like the old ones, you don't like the young ones - and then, when a golden opportunity comes your way, no pun intended, you turn it down. What's wrong with you?*  
  
'What's wrong with me, is that I'd like to conduct my affairs without any interruption from third parties; I'd rather not blow my chances with Hermione by making rude and inappropriate comments; and I've never particularly fancied a ménage a trois.'  
  
*Spoilsport*  
  
There was the definite sense that Min had gone off in a huff, something that Severus was grateful for, perhaps now he could get on with the simple business of hunting down the Weasley Twins and making their life a living hell for the next couple of weeks. He had just the hex in mind.  
  
He turned to Hermione, waiting patiently for him to end his internal dialogue, and said, "I rather intended visiting the Weasley's myself."  
  
"I don't think that would be a very good idea," she said slowly. "They're much more inclined to come clean with me than with you, and, frankly, you've got more important things to worry about."  
  
"What?" he said, faintly bewildered that there could be anything in his life more important than making the twins suffer. Repeatedly.  
  
It was Hermione's turn to blush. "I'm fairly certain," she stuttered, "that I read somewhere that it was dangerous to maintain anerectionformorethanacoupleofhours."  
  
Severus inserted the necessary gaps between the gabbled words, and came up with a fairly unpleasant result. "Really? What's the worse that could happen?" he said; he didn't think he wanted to know, but he didn't think he could afford not to know.  
  
Hermione's face told him all he needed to know: the worst that could happen was very bad indeed. "You mean?" he made an abortive gesture towards his groin. Hermione nodded. Bravely, he restrained a whimper, and started running through the list of ingredients for a deflating draught.  
  
He nodded at Hermione's soft, "I'll leave you to it then," and barely registered the fact that she'd left. Was it four ounces of Hebrian powder or three? It was so long since he'd needed to prepare a deflating draught he couldn't remember the finer details. He summoned Moste Potente Potions from his bookshelf and began to read.  
  
Hermione had a fair idea where she would find the twins. If they had had any idea of the harm they had done, they would have gone into hiding – probably behind Molly's skirts at the Burrow – but they were serving customers in their Hogsmeade shop blissfully unaware of the nemesis descending on them.  
  
Hermone's indignation had less to do with the indignities visited on Severus, and more to do with the curtailing of her fun last night. She'd always had a soft spot for Professor Snape. During the last year of the struggle against Voldemort she had come to appreciated his vicious sarcasm – when not directed at her – and to have some sympathy for his view that 'young Potter seemed hell bent on self-destruction.'  
  
He at least had opposed the Order's tendency to rely on Harry to bring down Voldemort on his own, and had memorably referred to him as a 'little tosser with a hero complex' and suggested that Dumbledore couldn't tell his arse from his elbow in matters of strategy.  
  
'Little tosser' was going too far, but the hero complex was entirely accurate and had made her and Ron take a long hard look at Dumbledore's strategy. They didn't like what they saw. The words 'expendable' and 'cannon fodder' had sprung to mind, and they had taken it on themselves to set Harry straight on a number of issues.  
  
It had taken them weeks to persuade Harry that as the prophecy only required either he or Voldemort to die, doing something daft and getting himself killed instead of or as well as Voldie wasn't desirable or necessary.  
  
It had worked; they'd all made it through more or less intact thanks to Harry's newfound caution. Even Harry had admitted that Snape, whilst still being an unpleasant, obnoxious and nasty piece of work, had been instrumental in his survival. So the pair of them hadn't been surprised at the news that she was going to the Hogwarts reunion party in order to see Snape.  
  
"Just don't expect me to be nice to him," said Harry pugnaciously.  
  
"Don't be silly," said Ron, "she wants to shag the bloke, not have him peg out from shock."  
  
"Although," said Hermione thoughtfully, "if you just managed to, I don't know, knock him out for a bit, I could get him back to his quarters and take advantage of his weakened condition."  
  
Harry and Ron had stared at her in horror. "You're serious," blurted Harry in amazement.  
  
"Don't be daft," she'd replied; of course she wouldn't take advantage of Severus when he was unconscious. Where was the fun in that?  
  
"I don't meant the unconsciousness bit, I meant the chasing Snape bit," Harry said.  
  
She had just shrugged noncommittally, and the boys had changed the subject; they didn't want to hear about Hermione's passion for Snape, and she didn't want to talk about it. Passion was too strong a word for it as well; an interest, that's what it was. She'd just wanted to get to know the enigmatic man a bit better.  
  
The snogging had been an entirely welcome bonus, but had been unkindly cut short; the boys had to pay.  
  
Softly, softly at first though.  
  
Lull them into a false sense of security, extract the maximum amount of information out of them and then make them pay as per Severus's wishes.  
  
"Oooh, look George," said – presumably, although you could never be certain – Fred. "It's Mrs Snape."  
  
"So it is. So it is."  
  
Alternatively, she could hex first and ask questions later. Sod it, the Hat had never suggested she should be in Slytherin; she would leave sneaky tactics to others. She removed her wand from her sleeve and started tapping it meaningfully on her palm.  
  
Fred – or George – eyed her warily, and then very foolishly began to snigger. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but we didn't know that Snape had the hots for you, or we'd never have put the potion into the punch."  
  
George – or Fred – added, "We did come to your rescue as soon as we worked out what was going on."  
  
"That, boys, is precisely the problem; or at least one of the problems."  
  
Both boys were beginning to look a little worried. The scene they had envisaged playing out this morning – Hermione annoyed at being molested fading into a good laugh at Snape's expense – was vanishing rapidly. She wasn't grateful at being rescued, which was frightening enough in its own right, but there was another problem?  
  
"You see, when you made that potion, you seem to have made a mistake. There were side effects."  
  
"What effects?"  
  
"You really don't need to know that. What you need to do is run through the making of the potion step by step, until we work out what the problem is."  
  
"Why should we help Snape?"  
  
"Because," said Hermione, in tones of infinite patience, "there's an easy way and a hard way to do this. This is the easy way, but we can try the hard way if you like."  
  
The boys were not impressed by Hermione's posturing, not until she said the magic word: "Molly."  
  
They sighed and confessed all. When they had finished babbling, Hermione couldn't find a fault in the potion they had been brewing. "Is that all?" she said. "Nothing odd happened during the making, nothing unusual at all?"  
  
The boys exchanged meaningful looks and then one of them said, "Well, the Egyptian statue that Bill gave us the last time he was home, you know, the one with the big knob, it fell in the mixture, but that shouldn't have had an effect, should it?"  
  
Hermione didn't think her chances with Severus would be improved if she told the boys that this was entirely the cause of his problems – it would be round the Wizarding world by the end of the day, and a full page spread in the Daily Prophet the day after – "I don't know," she said uncertainly, "I can't see how it could have done, but you'd better give it to me just in case. I'll get Madam Pomfrey to look at it and see what she thinks."  
  
"Thanks, Hermione," the twins said, almost in unison. A quick accio later Hermione was clutching a statue of Min in her hot sticky paw. Time to return to Hogwarts and see if the recalcitrant god could be persuaded to return to his former home.  
  
She didn't like their chances.  
  
Min was a god, and gods didn't need to be tactful. Even so, it would have been better if he had chosen his words more carefully.  
  
*It's a bit small isn't it?*  
  
'I beg your pardon?' came the very frosty response.  
  
*My new home, if you can call it that* he quickly added.  
  
'I think it would be better if you were a little more specific.' There was no appreciable thaw in the tone of voice. The penny dropped; he thought Min meant....  
  
*Your rooms* he said hastily. 'Your rooms are a bit small. I'm used to temple complexes*  
  
'And where was your last home?' Min was relieved that there was at least a hint of defrosting, even though the tone was more sarcastic than he was accustomed to.  
  
*A shelf in someone's room* he confessed.  
  
'Ah, the Weasleys, no doubt.'  
  
*They had red hair, if that's any help.*  
  
'Just as I suspected. Those two were always up to something when they were at Hogwarts, and they haven't changed a bit.'  
  
*The mark of Seth was upon them* Min agreed.  
  
'What do you mean?'  
  
*Red hair was always a sign of evil in Egypt*  
  
The two parties found themselves in total agreement on something for the first time. It didn't last long. Severus found himself idly wondering what Hermione was doing, and whether she had hexed the twins into oblivion yet. Someone who had been breaking curses for a living presumably had a wide range of hexes at her disposal.  
  
*Good god, must you always be thinking about her?* snapped Min. *Frankly, it's a little dull. She's not that good looking you know. You could do a lot better.*  
  
'What's it got to do with you, anyway?' snapped Severus, horribly aware that his mind was dwelling on Hermione rather more than was strictly necessary.  
  
*I'm a fertility god. I want something to fertilise.*  
  
Severus shuddered. He really didn't want to think about the implications of that at all; that could mean, ugh, children. Best not to pursue that issue at all.  
  
'Anyway, what's wrong with Hermione?' he asked determined to change the subject away from agriculture and breeding.  
  
*I don't want to settle for the first with I see* came the sulky response. *You don't what to waste your first shag in 3000 years on just anyone.*  
  
'It's my body,' thought Severus huffily, 'and I get to say who I – we – I shag.'  
  
*Judging on present performance that's a choice between a camel-faced wrinkly, a stroppy woman with hair like a bird's nest, or the old favourite of the five-knuckle shuffle. It's not much of a choice is it?*  
  
'She's not stroppy,' protested Severus. 'She's just forceful.'  
  
*Yes, she is stroppy.*  
  
'No, she isn't.'  
  
*Yes, she is.*  
  
There was a long silence as Severus realised that he was conducting an argument with his cock - *And losing it* - which was bordering on the insane.  
  
There was a fraught silence between the two parties for the next couple of minutes; dignified on Severus's part, but he considered that Min was simply sulking. Then, in a faintly more conciliatory tone Min said, 'You know that draught won't work, don't you?'  
  
'Why not?'  
  
'Well, the erection, it's sort of one of my godly attributes, you see. So nothing short of a miracle can make it go away; well, a miracle, or....'  
  
'Go on,' insisted Snape.  
  
'You remember the comment about the five knuckle shuffle?'  
  
Snape shuddered. He wouldn't pretend that he hadn't resorted to Mrs Palm and her five daughters from time to time - *Everyday and twice on Saturday, more like* - but the idea of indulging in his present condition was humiliating.  
  
*It's the only way. It should provide – relief - for a couple of hours at least*  
  
'You mean I'll have to keep doing this?' There was a vague suggestion of assent from his cock; he would just have to be brave. He took the usual precautions – warding the door, arranging a towel on his knees – and slowly unbuttoned his fly. Very carefully looking the other way – no man wants to get into a confrontation with his cock – he gingerly abstracted the item in question and began to work.  
  
*Is that the best you can do?*  
  
Severus cringed; now his wanking technique was being criticised. He had a very good mind to stop the whole process altogether and fetch a carving knife from the kitchen.  
  
*You wouldn't do that* said very shocked Min.  
  
'I bloody would you know. It's not like I'll ever be able to do anything with my cock with you in residence; I may as well cut it off. At least I'd get some peace and quiet.'  
  
Recognising that he might – just might – have pushed Severus too far, Min kept silent as Severus worked his fingers rapidly backwards and forwards. A stifled gasp, a pulse of pleasure, and he was done.  
  
*Ooooh, and another universe is made* breathed Min.  
  
Severus carefully wiped his hands before tucking Min back away. He never wanted to have to do that again; in fact, even if Min wasn't in occupation, he doubted whether he would ever be able to wank again.  
  
Please god let Hermione find the answer to his problem soon. 


	5. in which progress is made

Ordinarily Severus Snape would have been delighted to have a young lady paying so much attention to his cock, but it seemed that Miss Granger was rather more interested in happenings below the belt, than above it. Frankly, he was beginning to feel slighted.  
  
He'd been a polite, well-behaved boy in his past, and never had inappropriate thoughts about his female colleagues - helped in no large part by their frosty demeanour, heavily be-robed figures and handiness with a wand - but now he was beginning to feel like a sex object which seemed to him to be incredibly unfair. And oddly enough, it was entirely unwelcome. Whereas, in the past, he had viewed James Potter and his ability to attract women with some degree of envy, now he had discovered that he wanted to be cherished for his personality; or at the very least have a conversation with Hermione that involved her looking him in the eye, er, face.  
  
And Min was missing no opportunity to rub salt in the wound.  
  
He was sitting on a chair with his legs uncomfortably and embarrassingly wide apart, watching Hermione's head bob industriously *and you like that, don't you?* as she asked Min questions, and then noted down the answers that he dutifully repeated.  
  
*Have you ever thought that it might have something to do with the fact that I'm more interesting than you?* asked Min in a supercilious tone that was beginning to grate on Severus. It reminded him of Lucius Malfoy at his worst, a man he had spent fifteen years longing to hex, with slight tinges of the patronising tones employed by Albus when attempting to make him do something 'for his own good'. The combination was not a happy one.  
  
He was that close to trying to stupefy his own cock, and see if he could get some peace and quiet.  
  
Severus's discontent penetrated even Hermione's fearsome powers of concentration; he looked about as happy as he did when teaching Neville Longbottom. It was clearly time to take a break.  
  
She levered herself up from the floor, to the sound of various bones cracking. "God, I'm getting old," she said. "Too old to be sitting on floors. I think we could both do with a cup of tea."  
  
"When you say 'we' do you mean you and Min, because I'm not sure that he can drink tea?" asked Severus nastily.  
  
He was rewarded with a look of exasperation. "I'm only trying to help," she said.  
  
"You seem to be spending an awful lot of time talking to it – him – about all sorts of irrelevancies; you're just trying to find out more about Ancient Egypt. I can see the headlines now in Egyptology Today or whatever the damned journal is called: Granger finds answers to centuries old question. Just what is the riddle of the Sphinx?"  
  
"It's Kemet, and I've already had four articles published in fact," she said in very frosty tones. "Including one about the possession of a woman last year by Isis. It's a fairly common bloody occurrence, actually. Nothing special."  
  
"It is to me." He was offended by the suggestion that this was some common or garden possession, hardly worthy of her notice really.  
  
*Oh, stop whining. It's not attractive. If you're hell bent on shagging Camel Hair you'll have to stop whingeing about every little difficulty.*  
  
'Will you belt up?' thundered Severus, in the privacy of his own head.  
  
"Have you two finished?" interrupted Hermione.  
  
Severus looked at her in shock, and again had a strange shearing sensation as Min seemed to swivel round inside his genitals. "You mean you can hear us?" he asked.  
  
"No," she replied, "But I can tell when you're talking to each other. You start frowning for one thing." Both males heaved a sigh of relief, regardless of whether they had the necessary equipment for sighing.  
  
"So if you've finished sulking, I'll tell you what I've been doing this morning. Honestly the pair of you are worse than Harry and Ron. Both of you are old enough to know better."  
  
*He started it.*  
  
'Oh, very mature," sneered Snape.  
  
"What now?" said Hermione. Her patience seemed to be wearing thin; perhaps she would start to be more sympathetic to his little problem.  
  
*Oi, not so little! They don't call me ithyphallic Min for nothing you know.*  
  
"He says I started it," reported Severus, hoping that this would provoke Hermione into having a go at Min. Maybe then he'd be able to get a chance to talk to her.  
  
"Oh, really!" she snapped in exasperation. "You need to have a bit more respect..."  
  
*Yeah, more respect. I'm a God you know.*  
  
".... for the body you're in. I know both forms of the Expulsion Ritual you know."  
  
Severus didn't know what she meant by that, but the horrified silence from Min indicated that he was well aware of the implications. "Both forms?" he asked, determined to find out what advantage he had, and to use it to full effect. Never cross a Slytherin.  
  
There was a sulky muttering from Min; no words could be discerned, which was probably a good thing. Severus didn't need to know Ancient Egyptian to know that the language being used was bad.  
  
"One form of the Ritual transfers the possessing spirit back into its original vessel," she pointed at the statuette, now ensconced in a lofty position on one of his bookshelves, where it seemed to leer at Severus. "The other doesn't; it just expels the spirit." She drew her finger across her neck in an unmistakeable gesture.  
  
"You mean.....?" Severus said, smiling broadly for the first time since the whole sordid affair had begun.  
  
Hermione simply nodded.  
  
'Well, then, I think a little more respect is indeed called for, don't you?' Show a Slytherin a weakness and he'll exploit it; Min was about to learn a great deal about the not-so-subtle art of gloating.  
  
He was rewarded with absolute silence. 'That will do for a start.'  
  
"So, Hermione," he said courteously, his good humour restored, "what exactly have you been up to with Min?" He absent-mindedly summoned a house elf to make tea, and was rewarded with a disapproving look from Hermione. "They're all paid at Hogwarts," he said defensively. "So don't look at me like that!"  
  
"When did that happen?" She took the offered cup, and then sat on the sofa, tucking her feet up beneath her.  
  
"About six months ago. Dobby finally won his case before the Wizengamot and all the house elves were freed." And a pain in the arse it was too, he added to himself; but he wasn't about to muck his chances up by saying that aloud. Hermione's views on house elves were well known, and she was perfectly capable of discussing – or go an about, as he would prefer to say – them for hours.  
  
"I was in Egypt at the time; I didn't hear a thing about it. Good for Dobby."  
  
Severus didn't want to talk about Dobby. He didn't particularly want to talk about Min either, but he definitely wanted to know when he could expect to get his knob back. He couldn't even take a piddle without some form of criticism from his guest.  
  
"You were going to tell me what you'd been doing," he prompted.  
  
She took a sip of tea. "I needed to make sure your interloper was who he said he was."  
  
"You mean you get impostors?"  
  
"Not as such." A faint smile crossed her face. "It's just that lots of fairly minor members of the Royal Family tended to think that they were divine. Now, because a lot of their subjects also thought they were divine they often ended up as gods after their death. The problem is that the belief in them runs out more quickly, so they end up exhausted fairly quickly, but worse than that is the problems that arise out of them having been human once."  
  
Severus winced. He could imagine the difficulties that would lead to; most people weren't very nice in his experience. Couple divine power and human fallibility and the result would be very messy. "You said that you'd had experience of this before."  
  
"Mmm." She nodded. "Last year, one of our colleagues was a bit slapdash in her quarantine procedures and one of the Royal Princesses escaped. If you think you have problems, you have no idea.  
  
"In the first place, the possession wasn't quite so localised, so the poor girl found herself sharing her entire body with this spoiled, petulant 17 year old. And after three thousand years in a statue there were only two things on her mind – food and sex."  
  
"It's a bit depressing really. You'd think they'd be a bit more interested in how the world has changed, even what happened to their friends, but no, sex, sex, sex."  
  
Severus had fleeting moment of sympathy for Min, but he quickly quashed it. He too knew what it was like to have long intervals between 'friendships', but even so he had managed to behave with more finesse. "It's all Min ever seems to think about; are you sure he's a god?"  
  
"I did wonder; but of course he's a fertility god, being interested in sex is practically in his job description. That's why I had to ask him lots of silly questions to see if he knew more about the small doings of the Eighteenth Century Dynasty kings than, say, Isis. It makes a difference to the Expulsion Ritual as well. We don't want to muck up that; Min strikes me as the sort of awkward bugger who'll hang on to his freedom by his fingernails. He's not going to come quietly, is he?"  
  
Mercifully, he didn't rise to the bait either.  
  
Oh. Severus felt mildly foolish; it appeared that Hermione had been devoting considerable amounts of her time to helping him, whilst he'd been sitting there feeling sorry for himself.  
  
*What did I tell you?*  
  
'Oh shut up.'  
  
He noticed that her cup was empty, and resolved to be the perfect host to make up for his earlier rudeness. He'd even prepare the damned thing himself rather than summon a house elf. "More tea, Hermione?"  
  
"Ummm, no, no thanks."  
  
Severus couldn't think of anything to say. Well, he could, but he didn't think 'Could we get back to the kissing that was so rudely interrupted?' was quite the right thing to blurt out to a young lady comfortably seated on your sofa.  
  
Not even when she leaned across you to put her teacup down on the table next to you.  
  
Not even when this resulted in a wonderful view of her cleavage, and a resurgence of the Min problem, but with a wholly different cause.  
  
Although it did seem an acceptable response, but wholly unnecessary, when the young lady in question placed her mouth close to your ear and asked, "Do you remember, you said that your kissing abilities had been impaired by the potion?"  
  
All that was necessary in that case was to nod your head, and proceed to give a practical demonstration that this was indeed the case. Even Min's murmured *I'm beginning to understand what you see in her* failed to disturb Severus's wholehearted endeavours.  
  
He'd never have a bad word to say about Gryffindors again. Well, Gryffindor forthrightness. Or should that be Hermione's forthrightness, thus leaving him free to deduct points and conduct a one-professor reign of terror.  
  
Oh sod it, thinking was overrated anyway. 


	6. eviction day?

For once Severus and Min were in complete agreement; kissing Hermione was A Good Thing.  
  
Severus would have enjoyed kissing Hermione more – and it must be admitted he was enjoying kissing Hermione a great deal – if he hadn't been treated to a running commentary from Min.  
  
*I think you're right about modern women, you know. In the old days, no girl would have dreamed of making the first move like that. Pity, really.*  
  
Severus was too busy to reply. He had a promise to live up to; he was determined to demonstrate that he could do better than before when he had been under the influence of a lust potion, particularly an inadequately brewed lust potion.  
  
*Although you do get the unfortunate addition of the forceful opinions.*  
  
Seveus spared a brief moment of inattention from snogging Hermione to comment that he was fairly certain that women having opinions wasn't something new.  
  
*That's the truth. Women have had an opinion on everything since the world was young.*  
  
Severus couldn't restraint his little huff of laughter, but fortunately Hermione assumed he was attempting some bizarre Slytherin foreplay.  
  
Severus slipped his hands from her shoulders, where they had been decorously resting since she had launched herself upon him. One moved down to cup a breast – a manoeuvre greeted with an appreciative murmur; the other moved upwards, his fingers stroking her hair, and the thumb caressing the pulse point on her throat.  
  
Severus had barely a moment to savour Hermione's enthusiastic response – which consisted of nipping along his neck – before Min had to add his mite. *I still say it's like camel hair, though.*  
  
Severus snapped a mental command at Min to shut up, but Gods are equally indifferent to commands and hints.  
  
*A fine, silky-haired camel, but a camel nonetheless.*  
  
Severus had insufficient experience with camels to dispute this description – *and keep it that way; they're brutes* - but felt that times had moved on. It was no longer the height of romance to describe one's beloved in terms of a domestic animal, no matter how attractive an example of the species.  
  
*Goat, then.* said Min with the air of one making a concession to an unreasonable disputant. *Some of those are really silky.*  
  
"Will you shut up about goats," snarled Severus.  
  
"Goats?" asked Hermione.  
  
Bugger. That had been out loud.  
  
And Hermione, being Hermione would want an explanation – a detailed explanation – and she'd get in a huff, maybe slap his face, and that would be that.  
  
If she got really cross he would be stuck with Min till Bill got back from Egypt; and he wasn't sure that he would be able to resist the urge to amputate the offending limb before then. He certainly wouldn't be able to keep the whole sorry business a secret for that long.  
  
On the other hand, if her ire were directed in the right direction, he might be able to get some peace and quiet. Hermione seemed to have a knack of God handling. Severus stamped on the mental image that crossed Min's mind about just how good she would be at God handling. He didn't need thoughts like that when he was trying to dig his way out of trouble.  
  
"And Camels. Min is trying to describe your hair."  
  
That ought to put the cat among the pigeons nicely.  
  
"Ah," she said, quite calmly, all things considered. Which, whilst it removed the threat of instant face slapping – which was good – did seem to indicate that there wouldn't be imminent God slapping. On balance, Severus felt a little disappointed in Hermione.  
  
*You see, I said she wouldn't mind.*  
  
"I do find it interesting," she continued, "that he seems to reference the classical Arab rather than the pure Egyptian tradition. Camels were quite a late arrival in Egypt you know."  
  
*I hardly think this is a time to be talking about camels*  
  
'You started it," said Severus, with some bitterness.  
  
Hermione continued her discussion of the classical tradition in Arab poetry – with references to the essentially domestic nature of the tropes, the eventual stagnation of the tradition, and the consequent over-use of certain metaphors – whilst scrabbling around under the back of her shirt.  
  
Severus was beginning to think that he had written Hermione off too soon; she was up to something.  
  
*What is she doing? It's hardly time for literary criticism either.* huffed Min.  
  
Severus shrugged mentally; he had no idea, but he was looking forward to finding out.  
  
"What has always puzzled me," Hermione continued, a little short of breath, her fingers now busy on the buttons of her shirt, "is the description of breasts as trembling fawns or gazelles." She shrugged out of her shirt and bra. "I mean," she said critically, looking down at herself, "do these look like gazelles to you?"  
  
Even Min recognised that the question was rhetorical; which was fortunate, as it's rude to talk with your mouth full.  
  
Severus woke alone – as alone as a man can be with a possessed cock. Hermione had left before things could get too interesting saying that, whilst she looked forward to performing acts of unparalleled salaciousness and kinkiness with him in due course, she drew the line at three in a bed.  
  
She had a point. He'd had visions of things proceeding to their natural conclusion and things being interrupted by Min's muffled voice floating up to him. *It's very dark in here.* He could be mentally scarred for life; and for a man who had been a Deatheater for several years that was saying something.  
  
Min had sulked last night once Hermione had left. Why he thought that withdrawing the shining pleasure of his company had been a punishment, Severus would never know. He was back this morning, with all the eagerness of a wet-nosed, waggy-tailed Labrador waiting for his walkies; only it was Severus's tail he was wagging. It was only when Severus absent-mindedly reached for his morning erection and began his usual perfunctory fumblings that he realised what Min was up to.  
  
Vicarious pleasure, eh?  
  
An amateur bastard, one whose skills hadn't been honed before a generation of children, would have stopped. A professional bastard like Severus – an uber-bastard, if you will – would continue, sure in the knowledge that vicarious pleasure was all that Min would be getting.  
  
Now to find some salt to rub in the wound.  
  
He rifled through his mental library of fantasies, usually reserved for a more leisurely moment of an evening. Now what would a sex-starved God really enjoy?  
  
Ah.  
  
That would do nicely.  
  
He built a careful image of a semi-naked Hermione kneeling before him. Oh yes, what a lovely mouth she had, so warm, and wet and willing; and ooh what talented fingers she had, knowing just where to touch his balls. A practiced flick of the wrist and he was home.  
  
'Like that did you?'  
  
There was a faint sense of curiosity, coupled with a determination not to give anything away; Min said nothing.  
  
'Because Hermione is coming here this afternoon to complete the ritual.'  
  
Absolute silence.  
  
Severus wasn't a man given to guilt, but even his elastic conscience felt a twinge of something as he opened the door to Hermione and an enormous Gladstone bag later that afternoon. It wasn't that he regretted fantasising about her, that was perfectly natural after all, but it was perhaps a little less than polite to use that fantasy to taunt Min, no matter how annoying he was.  
  
He brightened almost immediately. Still, at least he wouldn't have to apologise, because Hermione would never find out about it.  
  
In his book, that was practically the same as never having done something in the first place. It was a philosophical position along the lines of the question whether a tree makes a sound in the woods when it falls if there is no one there to hear it. He'd never understood the point of the hypothesis stated like that. Presumably, there would be other creatures and insects with auditory equipment who would be able to hear the tree. His preferred version was: have you done something wrong if there are no witnesses.  
  
Certainly in a practical sense he rather thought the answer was an emphatic 'no'.  
  
The more sophisticated version of the question was: have you done something wrong when you have an alibi. The answer, so far, seemed also to be 'no'.  
  
He was therefore somewhat dismayed when Hermione, after a quick peck on the cheek, gave him a hard look and said, "What have you been up to? You look a bit shifty." It seemed to him to be wholly unfair that guilt should be ascribed on such flimsy grounds as 'looking shifty' when there was no hard evidence. Spluttering indignation would only have confirmed her suspicions; silence amounted to an admission of guilt; as it turned out, so did hesitating whilst thinking of an excuse.  
  
"Never mind. I'm probably better off not knowing."  
  
*Smooth, really smooth.*  
  
Determined to regain lost ground, Severus said, "I'm deeply hurt that you should describe me as shifty when I was aiming rather more for soulful with a slight hint of wistfulness."  
  
"Really?" asked Hermione, suppressing a smile.  
  
"Really," he replied, in his silkiest tones, as he moved closer to her. "You seem to find the idea that I missed you last night amusing in some way."  
  
"N-no," she stammered, staring up at him wide-eyed, with all the tremulous anticipation he could ever hope to see. Miss Granger could well be putty in his hands if he played his cards right.  
  
He ran his finger delicately down her cheek, smoothed her hair behind her ear, and then bent to kiss her: a subtle press of the lips, a small retreat, and then back for more. She made an absurd, contented sound in the back of her throat, then stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his waist.  
  
"I missed you too," she said softly.  
  
Even Min's pronounced sulking failed to dent Severus's contented mood. He had Hermione in his arms, soon Min would be gone, and then he could really have Hermione.  
  
"That's enough of that," said Hermione regretfully, easing out of his arms. "The sooner we start, the sooner we can get your annoying guest back into his rightful home."  
  
Min stopped sulking; Severus could feel him wrapping his ghostly little fingers tightly round his person and holding on for grim death. Hermione oulled a chair into the middle of the room, directed Severus to sit in it and handed him a statue with a very large penis.  
  
Whilst she was bustling around taking various ingredients and other paraphernalia from the bag, he eyed the statue suspiciously. 'Typical god,' he thought, 'had to go in for exaggeration.'  
  
*Don't kid yourself matey, there isn't enough clay to make a statue in the correct proportions. They tried; and the knob kept falling off.*  
  
'I bet they couldn't find enough to make your big head either,' retorted Severus.  
  
Hermione drew the traditional warding circle round him and scattered salt to the four cardinal points. She took her wand and began the Ritual. Severus could feel a tugging at his genitals, similar to a portkey; he could also feel Min digging in his heels. He wasn't going to leave easily. Hermione was chanting busily, her wand swishing through the air. Her incantation reached a triumphant peak, there was an entirely over-dramatic swishing of wand, and then......nothing.  
  
*I told you her accent was terrible* came a triumphant voice.  
  
Severus didn't say anything; he didn't need to, his face said it all.  
  
"Shit!" said Hermione, slumping into the chair opposite. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit."  
  
Severus thought that summed up the situation admirably. 


	7. history repeats itself

Severus was used to disappointment in his life, which should have meant that he would be able to cope with what Hermione referred to as a temporary set-back. Unfortunately, Severus coping with disappointment tended to take the form of pacing around his rooms shouting at people, and Hermione didn't take being shouted at any better than anyone else.  
  
"What do you mean it's only a temporary set-back?" he shouted. "There shouldn't have been any set-backs at all. You said that you had experience with these things, you said he'd be gone, you said you knew what you were doing, and look," he gestured sharply at his groin, "he's still here. Why should I believe you now."  
  
Hermione pursed her lips in a manner very reminiscent of Minerva preparing to deliver a cutting retort, took a deep breath, and then made her reply. "It is only a temporary set-back you moron, although if you take that tone of voice to me again, I'm quite happy to make it permanent." She didn't quite achieve the same volume as Severus – although the difference was marginal – but she managed to snarl quite nicely all the same.  
  
Severus drew himself up to his full height, and sneered magnificently, "I might find your protestations more convincing if Min hadn't informed me that your accent was terrible."  
  
Hermione opened her mouth to say something equally cutting in reply, paused as she was struck by a thought, then simply said," Really?"  
  
Severus disregarded her thoughtful tone, and continued to vent his displeasure. "Yes, really Miss Granger, or do you think that you are above making what can only be described as a tyro's error?"  
  
"Sod off, Snape," she said, her voice utterly devoid of malice. "How do you expect me to know how to pronounce it; it is a dead language you know," she asked reasonably.  
  
Severus was a little surprised to find that the argument appeared to be over; then he took in what she was saying. "You mean you don't know how to speak the language?" He sat down abruptly in his chair. "I'm going to be stuck like this forever?" he said brokenly.  
  
"Don't be silly." Hermione was all brisk certainty. "The Ritual works for the Middle Kingdom princesses we tried it on; so it's simply a question of working out the semantic drift over a thousand years and correcting accordingly. It might take a couple of attempts, but I can assure you, Professor Snape, that Min will be ejected from your body."  
  
He refused to be reassured. "It could take years to get it right, and in the meantime I'll have to put up with his comments about my technique, and your hair and the size of his quarters."  
  
His brain caught up with his mouth and realised what he had said. How was he ever to get the girl into bed – assuming she was right about getting rid of Min – when he'd basically indicated that he had equipment that didn't measure up. There was a faint hint of colour on his cheeks as Hermione absently replied, "Well, he is used to Temple Complexes." She looked up, saw his embarrassed expression, and suddenly realised what he meant. "Oh."  
  
Severus flinched as her gaze flicked to his groin then back to his face. "My dear Severus," she said, smiling warmly, "you have no worries on that score. From where I was sitting last night, you seemed to be more than adequately endowed. Min is just trying to wind you up."  
  
*And she's just trying to make you feel better by laying on the flattery with a trowel. I thought she was supposed to be putty in your hands.*  
  
'And it's working.' He smirked a little; he didn't think there was a man in the world who wouldn't be flattered by a comment like that. His warm glow wasn't dented by seeing Hermione smile indulgently at him and Min's sour comments. Even if Hermione was exaggerating to make him feel better – which was unlikely, after all, she was a Gryffindor and they weren't prone to lying and she'd assumed Min was talking about his rooms in the first place – then she was doing it because she liked him. On the whole, there wasn't a downside as far as he could see.  
  
*Other than being wrapped round her pretty little finger.*  
  
'There are worse fates,' Severus thought blandly; and there were. Anyway, without the added burden of Min he was fairly certain he could do some wrapping round fingers of his own. It would be a mutually finger-wrapping relationship.  
  
"Well I'd better head off to the British Library and see if I can work out the correct pronunciation; I'll send you an Owl and keep you up to date. What are you going to do with yourself today?"  
  
"Drown my sorrows?" he offered wryly.  
  
She collected her things together, and then dropped a kiss on his forehead by way of farewell. "Well, don't forget to put your hangover potions out ready," she said. "I know what you boys are like!"  
  
"Really, Hermione, I'm a mature man, not a teenager."  
  
"In my experience, boys don't grow up, they just get older," she replied, and then closed the door behind her before he could think of a reply.  
  
*Will you stop mooning after her; she's gone now. Now what were you saying about drowning your sorrows?*  
  
The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea.  
  
After a couple of drinks he was feeling mellow; after several more he was feeling so mellow that, when Min suggested a *little outing to a hostelry* he didn't demur but stumbled off in search of his cloak and thence to Hogsmeade.  
  
It was the pebble that started the avalanche.  
  
Rosmerta was surprised to see him; he didn't usually drink in the daytime, and he certainly didn't drink to excess. She was even more surprised when he ordered a firewhiskey and a brandy - *a double* - for his friend. Who would have thought Severus Snape had a friend?  
  
By the time she'd watch him sink both drinks she was moving from surprise into concern; you heard all sorts of rumours about the effects of Crucio on a person's mind. Perhaps Snape had finally snapped under the strain of teaching.  
  
It was a very nervous Rosmerta that approached Severus to ask whether he wanted another drink.  
  
"Just another firewhiskey, Rosmerta, thank you."  
  
"Don't you want another one for you friend?" Something of her unease penetrated his stupor, and he realised that he had given rather too much away with his previous comment. It was time to recover his position before Rosmerta summoned the Aurors to take him to St Mungo's.  
  
"Just the one this time Rosmerta, thanks. It doesn't look like my friend is going to turn up." He waved his empty glass at her. "If he does turn up, he can hardly blame me for drinking his whisky can he?"  
  
She smiled, more than a little relieved that there was a rational explanation for at least some of Snape's behaviour, and poured him another drink.  
  
*She's nice.*  
  
'What?' asked Snape impatiently, too busy admiring the bottom of his glass and feeling sorry for himself to pay attention.  
  
*I said, she's nice.*  
  
"Oh. I suppose so. I've never really thought about her before."  
  
*Well, maybe you should.*  
  
There was no harm in looking, he supposed. After all, it was only looking, he and Hermione were hardly in a relationship as yet, and wouldn't be until he was rid of his interloper, and anyway she wouldn't find out about it.  
  
That was the first rumbling of the avalanche, where the experienced mountaineer looks hard at the mountaintops and decides its time to head for safety.  
  
Besides, she did have nice tits.  
  
Rosmerta's initial relief at finding out that Snape wasn't going potty, was now overtaken by indignation. Snape was definitely looking at her chest, which was both uncalled for and more than a little creepy. She tugged her blouse a little higher, and shivered a little.  
  
*I think she likes you.*  
  
Snape didn't say anything to that; he thought that was so unlikely it wasn't worth replying to.  
  
*No, really. Look at the way she keeps touching herself when she sees you looking at her. That's called grooming. Women do it to draw attention to their attributes, a bit like monkeys.*  
  
'Why don't they have purple arses then?'  
  
*That's baboons, not monkeys, you idiot.*  
  
'Oh.'  
  
When Rosmerta brought him his third drink, she made damned sure her blouse was covering as much of her body as possible. Professor Snape was making her feel uncomfortable, with his hot eyes running over her breasts like slugs that have seen a really attractive cabbage. If he said anything out of place, or made any move to touch, she'd hex him into the middle of next week regardless of the Order of Merlin (first class). War hero, or no hero, he wasn't going to make a pass at her without suffering the consequences.  
  
*Look, she's doing it again.*  
  
Severus peered blearily at Rosmerta. He wasn't used to drinking and he'd already consumed the equivalent of his average annual allowance; he was, to put it bluntly, pissed as a fart. He was therefore in no condition to notice the large mass of snow moving inexorably down the mountain and headed towards him.  
  
"They are nice tits."  
  
There was a brief, very crowded moment in which he thought, 'Oops, was that out loud,' and 'oh no, not again.' Then he was at the pointy end of a wand, wielded by an angry witch; there was a sudden flash of white, and then, nothing. 


	8. the end

This is dedicated to Kait's boyfriend Grant, who is to be introduced to all things fanPottery through this story. Poor soul.  
  
Severus became aware that he was lying face down on a floor. It was a nice comfortable floor and he was tempted to stay there, but years of bitter experience as a spy had taught him that this was not a good position to be in. It did have the advantage that he didn't appear to be fending off the demented attacks of a perverted Mediwitch and his drawers were in situ, but it was cold, hard, uncomfortable and he was sure there were splinters in all sorts of interesting places.  
  
There are, and its bloody uncomfortable I can tell you.  
  
Severus felt immense satisfaction that Min was suffering, even though that meant he was suffering too.  
  
You know what they say about cutting your nose off to spite your own face...?  
  
Severus had to admit he had a point; several of them actually, judging by the feel of things. He winced, braced his hands on the floor, and began the slow process of levering himself up. He was getting too old to spend his time in such an uncomfortable position. Idly he wondered what the Dark Lord would have done when his followers became too old to kiss his hem. He had a vision of Lucius, tottering up to abase himself, and then getting stuck and having to be helped to his feet by younger minions.  
  
He could do with a couple of minions himself right now. He managed to stand by stopping half way, swaying as he crouched on his knees, then making a sudden surge for the vertical before his muscles realized what he was up to.  
  
He appeared to be locked in to Madam Rosmerta's cellar, doubtless waiting for the men from St Mungos.  
  
Shrill, Scottish tones from above told him the truth; he was in a much worse position than that. Minerva, she'd only gone and bloody floo'd Minerva. For Merlin's sake, she must have her breasts ogled and commented upon by all sorts of people; why on earth had she reacted so drastically.  
  
Dwelling at length on the perfidy of women he groped in his robes for his wand. Good, the daft cow hadn't taken it, relying on the strength of her hex to keep him subdued.  
  
She probably didn't want to spend too long rummaging around in your robes either, said Min smugly.  
  
'Oh will you shut up! What were you, the God of Being Sarcastic? It's all your bloody fault anyway. Now get me out of this.'  
  
What do you expect me to do about it, said Min indignantly. It's not my fault that you have absolutely no sodding idea how to chat up women. It's not my bloody fault at all. And then Min did what Min always did when the going got tough: he sulked.  
  
'This is no time to be sulking,' howled Severus, who was finding it difficult to stand, let alone think. 'What the hell am I going to do?'  
  
Why don't you apparate, you moron?  
  
It was a bloody good idea; why didn't he apparate? If he wasn't here when the door opened, at the very least he would have time to think of a story, maybe even get an alibi. Yes, that might work.  
  
Oh, who would give you an alibi? It's not as if you've got any friends, is it? sneered Min.  
  
Severus made a mental note to put Min's statue in the most remote corner possible of Hogwarts once he was back in residence, and then apparated away to London and the only person he could think of who might help him.  
  
Hermione.  
  
You've got camel-hair on the brain, said Min sourly, as Severus surveyed the grimy streets of London. And surely that smell was wee? Hadn't Muggles invented sewers yet?  
  
Severus quickly cast a locating charm, fixed Hermione's position relative to his, and apparated again.  
  
It was fortunate that Hermione lived alone. It was doubly fortunate that she wasn't carrying any crockery when a manic Severus Snape popped into existence in her living room. She was immensely relieved that she hadn't slipped into her most comfortable pair of jammies as soon as she crossed the threshold of her flat; she didn't think Severus would be impressed with over-large wincyette pyjamas covered in sheep, with matching baa lamb socks.  
  
Her approach to night attire in the past had been very practical: bugger romance, give me warm feet. However, she supposed that if you had a warm someone in bed with you, there would always be somewhere to place your cold feet, and more frivolous night attire would be possible. She'd just never really had the chance to test that theory out.  
  
She didn't know what Severus was doing in her lounge, but she had a damned good idea that, whatever was wrong, it was Min's fault. An opinion that lasted ten minutes into his explanation.  
  
"You said what?"  
  
Severus clutched at his head, what with his light hangover and the remains of the hex, he was in a delicate condition. Although, Hermione's shrill tones could have drilled through brick let alone his head.  
  
She wasn't pleased.  
  
"So, let's get this straight. You took this reprobate on a boys night out, during the course of which you leered at Rosmerta, culminating in telling her that she had nice tits, and then you have the cheek to come here for help!"  
  
Severus nodded sullenly.  
  
It was hard for Severus to keep track of the two conversations that were continuing in parallel; he wasn't feeling at his best. Min was providing a running commentary on Hermione's perorations, whilst Hermione was asking whether he would be quite so sanguine if he roles were reversed. He couldn't quite grasp why he would object to Hermione looking at Rosmerta's breasts, in fact, the more he thought about it ......  
  
He was fortunate that Hermione took his glass-eyed look of speculation for contrition, and was in the process of forgiving him provided he never did it again – and how likely was that now that he knew Rosmerta was so handy with her wand – when Min piped up.  
  
Oh, what does she think she's got to complain about for heaven's sake? It's not as if you shagged her or anything. His voice trailed away into a low murmur of complaints of how badly he'd been treated, the lack of respect he'd been afforded, and how, next time, he'd chose a better host.  
  
It was the straw that broke the camel's back.  
  
Severus's temper had never been complaisant to begin with; an evening of drinking, hexes and nagging had done nothing to help.  
  
"You bastard," he shrieked, leaping to his feet and grasping at the front of his trousers. "You absolute, sodding bastard. You come into my life without so much as a by your leave, you mess up the first chance of a relationship for years, you letch after my colleagues, you letch after Rosmerta, and you do nothing but complain about you you've been treated." He drew his wand and pointed it at Min. "One more word out of you and it's a slicing hex, and you'll be spending the rest of your time in a glass bottle. I may as well, because if you keep on like this, I'm never getting a shag again."  
  
There was a stunned silence from both parties.  
  
Hermione let out a long breath. "Why don't you put your wand away, sit down, and I'll make you a nice cup of tea. Then you can tell me all about it."  
  
He sat down abruptly, realizing how stupid he looked. Min, very sensibly, said nothing.  
  
A cup of tea and a plate of biscuits were placed in front of him, and Severus began to unburden himself. He'd never had a sympathetic listener before. Albus had tended to the 'I'm sure it's not all that bad, now go away' school of comfort, whereas Hermione listened to him, and made noises of sympathy at appropriate intervals, and said 'oh dear' and 'poor you'.  
  
When he ran out of things to complain about – and it took some time – she plucked the teacup out of his hand, placed it on the floor and pulled him into an embrace. He luxuriated in the warmth and comfort, his nose buried in her cleavage and her hands gently stroking his hair.  
  
"Are you humouring me?" he asked, his voice a little muffled.  
  
"I'm cosseting you," she said, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. "That's different."  
  
"Mmmm?" he said, nuzzling into her. Hermione's breasts were much nicer than Rosmerta's anyway. They were warm, and rounded, and no one tried to hex him when he touched them. If they weren't superior breasts, and he rather thought they were, despite Min's opinion, they were definitely friendlier.  
  
"It's what a relationship is about," she said. "Apart from the frequent hot sex, of course. You come home after a long day dealing with idiots, and your partner makes you a cup of tea, or offers you a nice glass of Firewhiskey as the case may be, and you get to whine about how horrible your day has been. Then you snuggle up on the sofa to be told how wonderful you are, and how the world doesn't appreciate you the way it should."  
  
Severus's father had always been vehemently opposed to any kind of namby- pamby coddling. He'd been wrong about a great many things in his time, and Severus suspected that this was one of them. It was nice – he couldn't be bothered to grope for a better word – to snuggle up on the sofa, and, whilst his previous thoughts had been directed solely toward the frequent, hot sex, snuggling would now feature high on his list of Things-to-do.  
  
Possibly higher than points deduction from Gryffindor, particularly if excessive points deduction meant no cosseting. He suspected it might. There would be a gradual process of assessing what ratio of cosseting to points deduction resulted in the greatest happiness, probably conducted over years. And, if it was made clear to Hermione that a cosseted Severus was a non-point deducting Severus, it would become her Gryffindor duty to make sure he was as cosseted as possible.  
  
Mind you, there was the suggestion that this cosseting process was mutual, which meant that had to be factored in as well. Perhaps a rota? Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays would be his days for being cosseted; Tuesday and Thursday would be hers. Obviously, he needed more cosseting than Hermione because she didn't have to deal with Dumbledore on a daily basis. That would work, although Thursday was a particularly stressful day, so .......  
  
He was so busy applying his Slytherin mind ensuring that he came out ahead on the cosseting, that he forgot all about the small problem of Minerva, Rosmerta and the embarrassment of being hexed.  
  
He'd arrived at a tentative formula: Mondays and Wednesdays for Hermione, Tuesdays and Thursdays for him, and cutting straight to the hot sex on Fridays, and no more than 100 points deducted during a day (unless he felt like it), when Hermione reminded him of his other problem.  
  
"So, what are you going to do about Rosmerta?"  
  
"I was planning to deny everything," he mumbled, reluctant to move his nose from its present happy home.  
  
"So you need an alibi then," said Hermione meditatively. "That gives me an idea."  
  
Severus smiled; it looked like he was home and free.  
  
Minerva had been brought up by Scottish Presbyterians, whose views on morality had been formed in the Victorian era. She was a prude, and a strong believer in the mortification of the flesh. Why else would she rise at 6am, and walk round the castle grounds before breakfast no matter the weather?  
  
Severus and Hermione had therefore timed their arrival at the castle to coincide with her walk. Minerva saw them almost at once. It would have been hard to miss them, as they were embracing passionately in the entrance.  
  
Minerva's first impression was of a dark shape, which seemed to be under some sort of attack by a pale squid. Closer inspection revealed the back of Snape's robes, and that the squid was in the fact grasping hands.  
  
Well really! Not content with his behaviour last night with Rosmerta, he had clearly decided to round off the evening in Knockturn Alley, and had had the unmitigated gall to bring this ... creature... back here.  
  
She coughed, pointedly, to attract his attention, to no avail.  
  
A second cough was tried; still no response.  
  
"Severus Snape," she thundered, "put that tart down at once. You have a lot of explaining to do, my boy. You'll be lucky if you keep your job, once Albus hears about this."  
  
That registered, and there was muffled swearing and the discreet rearranging of dress. The couple parted, and Minerva was shocked to see that the tart in question was Miss Granger. She expected better behaviour from her, and had no hesitation in telling her that.  
  
"And you should know, Miss Granger, that this... this...whited sepulchre has been playing you false."  
  
Minerva was dismayed to find that Miss Granger was neither repentant – "Good heavens, it's not as if the children are around at the moment, what's the harm?" – nor convinced that Severus was cheating on her, the poor trusting fool.  
  
"Severus," Minerva said awfully, "If you don't tell this poor girl what you were up to last night, I shall have no other choice but to tell her, and to bring it to the attention of the Headmaster."  
  
Severus felt mildly gratified that she should have tried to smooth things over for him, but she couldn't be allowed to think that she had some kind of hold over him, or he'd never be able to deduct points again, not to mention all the extra-curricular activities he would suddenly find himself volunteered for.  
  
"Minerva," he said icily, "I have no idea what you are referring to. I would be only too grateful if you could elucidate."  
  
Minerva faltered in the face of such conviction, but then common sense asserted itself; of course he would deny everything, he was a Slytherin.  
  
"Very well, then," she said, lips pursed, "follow me." With that, she headed into the depths of the castle to find the Headmaster's private quarters.  
  
Hermione would ordinarily have felt guilty about deceiving Minerva, but being called a tart had rankled. Severus hadn't felt guilty about anything much in years; having been exposed to the excesses of the Deatheaters tended to harden the nerves. Provided he didn't actually inflict bodily harm on anyone, students and colleagues alike, he didn't see that he had much to feel guilty for. If Minerva chose to go off at half-cock and make accusations that she wouldn't be able to prove – never mind whether they were true or not – then she deserved all that she got.  
  
Albus wasn't pleased at being dragged out of bed so early. He sat in his armchair, muffled in his dressing gown, his feet tucked into carpet slippers and wearing an old fashioned nightcap. There was, for once, no mad twinkle in his eyes, and he looked every one of his years.  
  
If Minerva was looking for a sympathetic hearing, she wasn't going to get it.  
  
"Let me get this clear," Albus said, barely stifling his yawn, "you allege that young Severus here made an assault on Rosmerta, and then disappeared into the night, only to reappear this morning with Hermione in tow and denying everything."  
  
"Yes, Headmaster," Minerva said smugly, waiting for the sword of Damocles hanging over Severus's head to drop.  
  
"What, precisely, does this have to do with me?" asked Dumbledore acerbically. "Has Rosmerta made an official complaint?"  
  
"Well, no," Minerva faltered.  
  
"Largely, I gather because Minerva has persuaded her not to," said Severus, smoothly taking control of the conversation. "Which is something I am very grateful for, as I wouldn't wish my reputation to be damaged by a student prank."  
  
"Prank?" said Minerva, blankly.  
  
"Prank," Severus replied. "I can assure you Headmaster that I was engaged with Miss Granger here last night, and I returned to Hogwarts only early this morning to be greeted with this news."  
  
"Polyjuice," added Hermione. "If it wasn't Severus behaving so badly last night, it must have been a student using polyjuice." Hermione's conscience was clear; neither she nor Severus had actually told a lie.  
  
"Indeed. Which is why Minerva was perfectly correct in bringing this matter to your attention, Headmaster, even though it is a disgracefully early hour," added Severus.  
  
Albus grunted as he levered himself out of the chair. "Yes, I can see your point, Severus. Something will have to be done to make sure that it doesn't happen again." The hard stare that he directed at Severus showed that he wasn't entirely convinced by Severus's story, but that he wasn't sufficiently interested to push the point. "I suggest you check over your stores, Severus, and see if there's anything missing, whilst Minerva can talk to Rosmerta and see if there's anything she can remember that can point to the culprit."  
  
They dutifully filed out of his room. Once outside, Minerva turned to Severus, and said, "I don't know what to say. I'm sorry that I ever doubted you, Severus, and you, Miss Granger, what must you think of me?"  
  
"That's alright, Minerva. It's an easy mistake to make. Polyjuice can fool anyone." Severus was being magnanimous, which Hermione thought was so out of character that he may as well sign a confession. She deftly separated Severus from Minerva, whilst gracefully accepting her apologies, and then pulled him down a convenient corridor.  
  
"Good grief," she said. "Are you trying to make her suspicious?"  
  
"Nonsense," he said. "Minerva will simply be grateful for my unexpected benevolence, after all I think I might be expected to be quite mellow after an evening spent in the company of an attractive woman. I shall of course make up for my unusual forbearance by rubbing her nose in it for the rest of this week, and I think the Slytherin team should have priority for Quidditch practice for the term."  
  
"You are a very bad man," said Hermione, trying not to laugh. "If Slytherin win the Quidditch Cup this year, I shall be very cross with you, you sneak."  
  
"I promise to make it up to you," he said, in his most seductive voice.  
  
"Do you indeed? I'll look forward to that but first I think you owe me breakfast."  
  
"That sounds like a very good idea. We'll see what the house elves can rustle up in my quarters." He wrapped an arm possessively round her waist, and they headed off to his rooms.  
  
The Hogwarts House Elves were good at their job. When called upon to deliver a breakfast for two at short notice, they produced a marvel. There was a cooked breakfast, tucked away in magical chafing dishes to keep warm; there were croissants, pain au chocolate, Danish pastries, strawberries, exotic fruit and even champagne.  
  
It seemed the Elves suspected Romance and were doing all they could to help it on its way.  
  
Severus was feeling very happy. He was full of a decent breakfast, an indifferent champagne, Min was quiet, Minerva was worsted, his reputation was saved, and he was admiring the way Hermione was nibbling her strawberries.  
  
Hermione had elected to take the floor, whilst Severus had opted for decorously perching on the sofa. From his vantage point, Hermione's breasts emerged from her blouse like – not trembling gazelles – a range of very nice hills.  
  
The subject of Min had been very carefully shelved, and the last hour had been filled with nothing more controversial than recommendations to try the scrambled eggs, and requests for the champagne bottle.  
  
Severus picked up the bottle to pour himself more, only to be rewarded with a thin trickle. He peered suspiciously into the bottle, and then said mournfully, "It's empty."  
  
"Oh dear," said Hermione. She raised her almost-full glass to him in a toast, wobbled a little, and spilled some down the front of her blouse, before downing the rest in a gulp.  
  
"You really ought to be more careful with that," Severus said, lowering himself down to the ground beside her. "Waste not, want not." He bent his head and began delicately lapping at droplets glistening on her breasts.  
  
She gurgled with laughter; sliding her hands down his back and then up again in restless movement. He nuzzled up her neck, and then kissed her. Her hands burrowed into his hair and held him tight against her. Her lips were urgent against his, and then her tongue was moving into his mouth, as she rolled on top of him.  
  
She was being rather frisky, he thought as a hand went down between his legs, for a woman who wasn't into threesomes. He gave a muffled grunt of appreciation as she cupped him, and caressed him until he was hard.  
  
Oh god, he wanted to, but there was Min to think about, and it wouldn't feel right.  
  
Then her hand was scrabbling at his buttons and slipping inside to touch him directly, and he hissed in pleasure. He was aware that the voice going 'oh yes, yes, yes' in the back of his mind wasn't entirely him, and that Min was taking a strong interest in proceedings, but he really couldn't be bothered worrying about it.  
  
Hermione put her mouth close to his ear and began murmuring something in his ear. He couldn't make out what she was saying, but his hindbrain was pricking up and paying attention. Whatever it was, Min was agreeing to it, anything, as long as she didn't stop.  
  
Her smile was triumphant, feral even; and then they were engaged in the serious business of removing clothes and the concern about her agreement with Min faded into the background as they pressed their naked-at-last bodies together.  
  
He rolled them over, fitted himself to her, and then pushed; she threw her head back gave a sharp intake of breath, followed by a long, shuddering sigh. He dropped his head into the hollow of her neck, and then began to move. Hermione was breathing heavily, his own breathing was laboured, and he was hanging on to the precipice for grim life. He had to...he couldn't...and then Hermione gave one last gasp, shook beneath him and he could let go.  
  
Somewhere amidst the whirling pleasure, he was aware of a faint voice going oh shit! but he was too busy feeling smug and catching his breath to take any notice.  
  
Rather than release his tight grip on Hermione, he turned them a little so that they were resting side by side. She made a contented noise, half purr, half mumble, into his chest; they rested there, quite satisfied, for a long while. Severus was half-expecting some smart comment from Min, but was determined not to allow him to disrupt his contentment.  
  
The silence continued until he couldn't bear it any longer. 'Well?' He prodded Min sharply.  
  
Still silence.  
  
"He's gone you know," came a sleepy voice from his chest. "We had a deal. He's back in his old home. I'll have to take him to the Museum tomorrow to make sure he gets looked after."  
  
Severus smirked; they may have had a deal but judging from Min's last words, it wasn't one he'd necessarily had any intention of keeping. "I think we should keep him," he said softly. "He did bring us together after all."  
  
"Severus Snape, what brought us together was you ogling my chest at the reunion; it was nothing to do with Min at all."  
  
"Still, I'd like to keep him, as a memento."  
  
"I would never have suspected you of having a sentimental streak."  
  
"Just don't tell anyone," he said. Hermione wasn't happy when he moved, and said so. "I just thought bed would be more comfortable," he said plaintively.  
  
"True," she sighed, taking his hand to get to her feet. "And warmer."  
  
As they headed into his room, hands together, he cast a glance at Min perched on the mantelpiece. He didn't have a sentimental streak at all, but he was definitely looking forward to showing Min that Severus Snape had an active and varied sex life, unlike certain gods who were trapped in statues.  
  
A little shelf over the bed perhaps, to make sure he had the best view?  
  
He'd just have to make do with the sound effects for the next couple of hours.  
  
The End  
  
There is a short sequel planned, and there is a little Epilogue to this written as a drabble by Hawklaw to show what the future would be like for the happy couple.  
  
Vasectomy  
  
"But you have to help me persuade him!" Hermione was perilously close to whining. "I don't want more children, and contraceptives make me ill. It's a simple spell. Poppy can cast it in a minute."  
  
Min snorted. "You think I'm going to tell Severus that he should let that woman do anything near his genitals? I'm a fertility god! I want my followers to be fertile!"  
  
Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Caligula! Nero! You know that statue that Mum and Dad don't let you play with?"  
  
"All right! I'll talk to him!" Hermione just smiled and left her offering of wine. 


End file.
